The Problem of Presence Danielle Jameison, Medical Student, University of North Carolina and Theology, Medicine, & Culture Fellow at Duke Divinity School

The idea of “presence” has seen a rebirth in the contemporary discourse of health and healing, particularly as an antidote to the burnout crisis. Christian practitioners are especially called to be present to the suffering of their patients – for us, imaginatively inhabiting another’s world is not merely a better way to practice medicine, but a moral obligation of the vocation. However, a problem remains: the call to be present to suffering as a Christian can easily be distorted into a call to be present to suffering as Christ.

Christ practiced presence to suffering in two prominent ways, neither sustainable for us as merely human healers. First, “presence” as Christ-on-the-throne, the distant sort of presence which is most often attributed to the development of burnout, enables a practitioner to remain above and in proximity to, but never fully a part of, someone’s suffering narrative. In that sense, she enters the story as an other-worldly, superhuman savior – empathetic, but ultimately impervious to the goings-on of the mortals around her. This Christ Enthroned persona maintains a safe detachment from suffering and manages to avoid being pulled into the fray, but in so doing is effectively disconnected from her patients and, even if unintentionally, herself. Second, “presence” as Christ-on-the-cross drags a practitioner fully into another’s world and underneath burdens much too heavy to bear. The Christ Crucified practitioner subsumes suffering in its totality, even perceiving this “dying to oneself” sort of investment as the pinnacle of presence. The best of intentions aside, holding another’s suffering over the course of the day, and over a lifetime, becomes insufferable. ​A third kind of presence, while less conspicuous, may offer a more faithful way forward for Christians: it is seen as Jesus weeps alongside Mary and Martha after the death of their brother Lazarus. Through the lens of this encounter, the words of Jeremiah in Lamentations, and the perspectives of Emilie Townes, I offer lament as a framework for a viable Christlike approach to presence. I argue that the practice of lament facilitates presence in that it rewrites the experience of encountering another’s suffering. No longer a burden to be borne nor a disruption of goodness, suffering becomes a call to participate in the restoration of God’s kingdom on earth. Lament necessitates entering the narrative of suffering, and inhabiting an unfamiliar narrative is predicated on relationship. It is in relationship that we are not only moved, but called to action. Whereas a call to save might be paralyzing in the face of the limitations imposed by modern medicine and humanness generally speaking, a call to show up may be attainable. And in answering that call, I suggest, there is a degree of healing to be found for patient and practitioner alike. To that effect, lament may provide practitioners a framework for presence that holds in tension the bounds of our humanity and the boundlessness of the omnipresent Christ, affording the opportunity to both participate in the restoration of those who suffer and to themselves be restored.